a secret

trigger warning: weight related issues, self-esteem issues, numbness, anxiety, loneliness, general heavy stuff

as i write this it’s 11pm and i’m awake, as in not sleeping. and i want want to crawl out of my skin it feels like a cheap shirt one size too small for me. ugly, a misshapen sculpture left out in the sun long enough so there are cracks down the core of me. and maybe it’s just that my body is a summer cabin i should never have invested in, cobwebs and postcards drifting on the edge of forgotten. but i’ve spent enough summers here to know that if you stay awake for long enough the monsters will come out of the shadows and stay up late with me like we’re little kids at a sleepover birthday party, and sometimes we talk, and sometimes we don’t, and sometimes it’s peaceful, and sometimes it’s scary, and i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what to say, so i just sort of lie there, trying my best not to offend anybody. my body is a summer cabin, the kind of thing you can throw away because everyone else may go, but i will be there tomorrow anyway. and the insulation is kinda crappy, so sometimes the drafts get under my skin. and sometimes, when the wind picks up and the waves scream, all the lessons i taught you about breathing through the pain flicker through me a weak skeleton of an old movie but i’m having trouble thinking clearly, and i don’t try to fight it because fighting is not easy, and i can’t stop imagining carving away the ugly. ugly. imagine sanding at my cheeks, copy and pasting hammering and editing i’m a manuscript with so many typos i’m illegible even to myself some days, and i am slipping on black ice, i am reliving the second you realize you are falling, and i’m not sure who’s in control these days but it doesn’t feel like me, and i don’t know what to do and i don’t know what to say. sometimes i punch myself when i cry because i’m scared and i’m angry, and it doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t not hurt it’s hard to explain exactly i just want you to notice me i will light myself on fire so you will wrap your arms around me if necessary. and the wind gets louder and louder, and suddenly the blankets are made of bible-thin paper, and i dig my nails into my palms, and i wonder what it would feel like to be ok i don’t want my mind to be blank in the morning i just want to stop being trampled by the stampede of panicked thoughts inside me. and why am i like this? because there are days when i am alive in every cell of my body. but there are days when i feel like i’m swimming through something grey and sticky and almost inescapable and really really heavy. and sometimes when i get angry i take it out on my body, because when i can feel my bones echo it’s reassuring somehow, because i want to hurt you like you have hurt me so you will understand that dear society, dear school, dear internet, dear mum, dear dad, dear future of university, dear graduating early, dear extended family, you may be trying your hardest, and i know that there aren’t always choices, and i know maybe we can’t fix this, but this is not how you make a person happy. there are days when life is so scary i just want to hide under the bed and bask the vacuum around me. i know i come off excited. funny, maybe. it’s not that that’s a mask, it’s just the better part of me. it’s just my heart is a messy bedroom, and you don’t have a clue how important this system of organization is to me, and don’t come in you’ll hate me, and don’t come in, because most likely you will just get bossy at me.  won’t get it when i scream that my nightmares aren’t what’s scary, it’s the thoughts that don’t stop invading me, wondering what it would look like to shove the happy through a paper shredder watching my greatest successes shatter, clenching my fists tighter and tighter, i’m sorry. sometimes i eat regardless of being hungry because food makes my brain less crazy and i am scared of being empty and if you laugh, everyone will just think it’s fine it’s ok. i’m sorry. i can’t eat lunch in front of people my age so but please do me a favour and continue to believe my excuses i will come around someday, someday, someday far far away. i’m not sure exactly where the problem starts and where i’m just making it worse, but i do know that i’m scared each storm will blow me away into the tornado of broken that runs in my dna. i do know that the numbers on the scale make me want to run away from my body. i do know that the roof is buckling down on me and now the shadows are dancing there are days when i’m drifting i let go inside i’m falling. i’m falling. i’m falling. and my life, my choices, my decisions, my dreams, my hopes my fears, my feelings… it doesn’t matter, logically. except. logic is a distorted magnifying glass inside me. and there is no gravity… and so even as i write this i am trying not to think about it because it hurts me, and i’m doing that thing where you imagine roots growing from your feet in through the floorboards, holding you in place, slow and steady. why don’t people write more about what it feels like to be ok. ‘cause all day, i try to scrape the pain like an old layer of paint off me, but i don’t know what the world expects of me and i don’t know what to do i don’t know what to say—and i stay. and i stay. and i stay.

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